


We're Enemies

by DelRiddle



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Enemies, Eventual Happy Ending, Historical Inaccuracy, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Misunderstandings, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, One-Sided Attraction, Past Abuse, Sad, Sad with a Happy Ending, Secret Crush, Sorry Not Sorry, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2019-11-26 11:21:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 12,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18179936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelRiddle/pseuds/DelRiddle
Summary: England and France have been two superpowers that have constantly been at each others' necks.But there is more to their feelings for each other than either will ever admit. Not even to themselves. Not even when they cry out the others' name when there is no one else...Mostly following England's PoV, as he wonders what he truly means to his enemy. (I change PoV later)Looooooooosely based on historical events before I go ballistic and full fiction. Don't look for any accuracy. I left it in the grave I dug for myself





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there.  
> Welcome to my shit hole  
> History went down the same drain my brain did.  
> I just want more tears for my favourite ship.  
> I already have the full thing ready. I just won't post it at once.  
> Lol

England PoV: 

The first time we met, we were both very young, but you were from the bigger land, and I knew you were stronger... you were the only one other than my brothers who had ever tried to speak to me.

You spoke in a strange language that I understood nothing of, and when you realised that... you tried to speak in my tongue. You said you were called France; that I could call you Francis... but I didn't.

You tried to talk to me though I'd keep running off. You said you wanted to be my friend, and then left.

I told my big brother about you. He grabbed me by the neck and pulled me up to look into his blazing emerald eyes. He told me to be very careful; he told me you were my enemy.

I believed him, like I did his every word back then.

 

 

_**We're enemies.** _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nope.

England PoV:

You still kept trying to talk to me. You were so annoying. I called you so many names. You said that you were friends with brother, but when he saw me with you, he'd beat me. Tell me to keep away.

You found me on a day like this... He'd hit me again and I was sitting by the lake crying, where I knew he wouldn't find me, where no one would... but you did.  
You rushed to my side, your light blue dress swishing behind you.   
You looked a girl. A pretty little angel.

I tried to stop my tears but you saw them. You asked me what happened, but I didn't want to talk... I felt so weak, so so weak! ...  
_"Fran-cis"_ I managed to mutter your name. Your eyes widened at once.You rushed over and wrapped your arms around me.

I let out a small yelp and started to cry again. That's when you realised... You pulled off my cloak despite my protests, and saw all the bruises on my body.   
I tried to cover myself up, but you pulled my hands away and looked at me... you looked almost in tears yourself. I wondered if you really were as strong as you said.

You cleaned each wound you saw on me. I still have the scar from that one wound that wouldn't stop bleeding... You tore off a part of your own dress that you were so proud of to wrap it.

I wanted to return your smile... But brother told me to be careful with the enemy... I managed to mutter some form of gratification...

As I tried to get up and run, you grabbed me.

"At least tell me your name! I can't keep calling you Scotland's brother!"  
you said in your annoying croaky voice.

"England. Arthur Kirkland."

"Hello, England. could you tell me why you were hurt so badly?" you sounded a bit concerned.   
I wasn't used to concern.

"Nothing you frog! Leave me alone. We're not friends!"

Brother can't be wrong. I ran away, ran as fast as I could. You sat there too stunned to do anything.

 

 

 

**_We're enemies._ **


	3. 3??

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nahh

England PoV:

Every time you tried to talk to me, I'd call you a frog, a girl... anything but your name.  
I didn't like to use it... you still stopped by to bother me anyway.

Brother was right. You really were my enemy, trying to pick fights.

But every time I got beaten up by my brother, you'd find me. You'd ask what happened even when you knew. All I could say was your stupid name.

_Francis._

And I'd find you at my side, tending to my wounds. You'd sit by me, and run your long thin fingers through my scruffy hair till I stopped sobbing.

Every time, I'd run away... I knew these were only dirty tricks; tricks my enemy is playing to fool me.

 

 

 

_**We're enemies.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for now... I'll post the next three chapters when I'm free next ... Next day, next December, next decade... Who knows? 
> 
> (Probably next week, lol)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who decided to post here instead of studying for their final exam?  
> ~  
> Anyway, here goes nothing!

England PoV:

I found you crying by the pond. Your blue eyes glazed over by tears. It was so strange to see you like that. It felt so wrong.

I called out to you. "Hey Frog!"

  
You turned. You looked straight into my eyes with a pitiful expression and tears running down your pale little face.  
"Oh _Arthur_ ..." you let out a small cry with a fresh round of tears.

  
I automatically ran forward and wrapped my arms around your thin shoulders. I sat down with you as you cried onto my shoulder, talking of people I'd never heard of. I could tell they hurt you. Looking closely, I saw bruises on your face, your hands and your legs...

That's when I promised myself, that when I grow up, I'll be stronger than all of these people you kept talking about.

  
I was running my fingers through your soft golden hair, lost in my own thoughts, when you suddenly got up.

 

It was quick. The first time that you pressed your lips to mine. Just a soft brush, like a gentle breeze in Spring. Your eyes were bright again, you had a small silly smile.

 

I didn't know what to do. I yelled at you, calling you insane.  
"I was only thanking you!" you squeak. "That is how you thank people you like."

  
What? Why would you like me?

"Shut up! You frog! No body likes you here!"  
I know by the way you're smirking that my cheeks are red.

  
"If you don't like me, then why'd you hold me like that?"

  
"Only returning a favour." I say as coldly as I can.

  
"But I like you. I want to be your friend."

  
What?! No way.

"Liar! You are not my friend! Enemy! Enemy! The Frog is my enemy!" I scream, not thinking through.

  
I can see the hurt in your eyes. You look like you're about to cry again. "Fine then, Eyebrows! We're enemies. I don't even want to be friends with someone as rude as you!" You run off.

I suddenly feel bad.

I feel so angry! How dare you run away like this! Once I grow up, I'll teach you a lesson!

 

 

 

 

_**We're enemies.** _


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is where it starts to get wildly (inaccurate) historical.  
> Bear with me.

England PoV:

Seems like both of us made good on our words. Now, years later, we truly are enemies.

And I am stronger. Much stronger.

  
You hung me out to dry, and became friends with my brother. I hate him! I hate my brother! He made us into enemies, and then took you for himself... and you went with him. I hate you too!

  
I lost both people I was close to.

  
I can tell you are standing right behind me, and I can't fight anymore...

...I don't want to fight. I may be strong, but both of you are just too entwined in my life to keep fighting.

  
"... _Francis?_ " I call out.

  
Just as I had thought, I heard your footsteps close in. You knelt behind me, and your arms wrapped around me. You put your head on my shoulder and pulled me closer.

  
"Now you're on your own... but he won't hurt you again anymore." your fingers trace over all the faint old scars that you had tended to long ago.

  
I grab your hand."You humiliated me. This is not over yet, you frog."

 

 

 

_**We're enemies.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't care what anyone else thinks of Scotland... He's my ultimate villain. I have some sort of weird hatred for him that I simply can't explain...


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nope~

England PoV:

I found you kneeling next to the dying embers. The land deserted. You were crying over the girl they just burnt.

You seemed to really love her.   
My footsteps make you turn. At once your eyes catch a mad glaze and rush forward, almost tripping once, and hold your sword to my throat.

  
The pitiful condition you're in, I could end you right now... but that isn't my purpose. I stay still without reacting. Your hands are shaking, and I know you won't strike, I'm just waiting for you to say it.

 

' _Arthur_...' You manage a hoarse whisper. That is all I need. I knock the sword out of your hand and pull you to my chest.

Your legs give away and you lurch forward. You collapse on me as we both fall to the ground, your body wracked by sobs and wails. I only hold you close to me, trying to soothe you. I don't know if I should try to speak, I'm not really a man of many soothing words...

  
Your hand suddenly grabs my chin. You force me to look into the depths of your eyes. "This means nothing England. It's not over."

You pass out in my arms.

I stop myself from pressing my lips to your forehead. I carry you to the nearest tree and lay you down in it's shade, trying to memorise the serene expression your face has.

I know it's far from over.

 

 

 

**_We're enemies._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really love Joan ... The entire thing just feels so horribly cruel...


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...uhhh... Idk.  
> If you've come this far just go the flow, my friend.

 England PoV:

Your men drag me to you. They throw me at your feet. I hear you laugh. I grit my teeth as your shoe on my neck forces my face into the dirt.

  
You did. After 100 years. You've won.

  
"I hope you learn something from this England." The ice in your voice seems to spear through me.

  
I feel like crying. Why are you doing this to me?

 

Oh right ... I know why.

  
"Yes,  _Francis_. I did." I say as I hold back tears.

  
I feel the pressure on my neck disappear. Instead there are thin long fingers snaking around. You grab me by my hair and force your eyes into mine.

My bound hands unable to support my weight or reach for a weapon. You bring out your knife and slash through the ropes around my bleeding wrists.

I fall forward and you hold me tightly. Your touch on my neck softens and I let my tears roll. We stay that way till my eyes dry.

  
"Run England. Scurry back to where you came from, little rabbit. Come back when you think you can win and I'll prove you wrong again."

You push me away and get back on your feet. You smile at me, but the bitterness that you don't even try to hide resonates in the air between us, all warmth suddenly gone.

  
I take my shameful leave. Just you wait, you frog.

 

 

 

**_We're enemies._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't come at me with real history. I'll be forced to throw you into the same pit I threw it into
> 
> Ps. That's all for now.


	8. ...7+1

England PoV:

This time I'm the one who's standing tall. This round is mine.

I had warned you before. I wouldn't go easy on you. Took you hundred and now you're defeated in just seven. It's somewhat funny to see you like this.

Your soft golden locks matted and dirty. Your pretty face covered in small bruises and cuts. You on your knees with your hands bound behind you, too ashamed to look up.

I dismiss my men and get down on one knee in front of you, grabbing your chin to force you to look into my eyes. To make you feel the satisfaction I feel, and to make you feel worse.

Your eyes are glazed over. " _Arthur_...!" you cry out.

Just what I had been expecting...  
hoping for...

I wrap my arms around you and sit down on the floor, pulling you into my lap. You bury your face into the crook of my neck and tears roll down your eyes onto my collar.

I slowly untie your wrists, massaging them as gently as possible to return circulation to them.

You push my hands away and wrap your arms around my body instead. I let you cling onto me as I run my hands over your back.  
You finally stop sobbing and just stay still.

"This won't last long, England."

I push you off myself and you pass out on the ground, your cheeks bearing proof of your vulnerability.

"We'll see." I walk out of the tent. I know. Nothing will.

 

Other than us.

 

On opposite sides.

 

 

 

 

_**We're enemies.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is actually one of my personal favourites... So I posted this to get to that one faster.


	9. Uuhhhhh...... 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my personal favourites...  
> I have a feeling this is one of the better written ones....

England PoV:

 

You just had to, didn't you!? You just had to take America away from me too, didn't you? You sick bastard!

You had no business in this. It was between us brothers. But you had to poke your nose in it. And now he's got what he wanted, and I'm here alone again...

I stayed fixated where I'd fallen till everyone left. You came back after the rain stopped and pulled me back to my feet. There's a smug smile on your face.

"You bastard! Y-You're truly horrible _Francis_!" I scream at you through my tears.

Your arms fold around me in a gentle embrace. You smile a soft sad smile.

"You knew this day would come. You have to learn to let go."

Your gaze pierces right through me. I feel so furious. And it's because I know you are right. And I hate to accept it.

You had freed me from my brother's shadow and you did the same for him...

...but I wish, that at least once, just once the side you chose was mine...

 

I feel your warmth against my lips as you pull me close into a kiss. I want nothing more than to melt into it and wrap my arms around you, but I can't let that happen.

I only feel hate for you in the moment, and I want to make sure you know.

  
I bite down on your lower lip, and dig into it until the skin breaks and the blood starts dripping.

I wait for you to pull away, to push me away, for some sort of reaction to my attack, but you just stay there, still holding me; your lips still on mine.The taste of your blood fills my mouth, and I know you can taste it too.

I finally pull away, out of breath, and you release me and take a step back.

A single drop of blood drips from your lip and runs down your chin. Your eyes seem like they're trying to dig their way into my soul.

"Hate me, if that's what you need. Grow up. I don't want my enemy to be a child."  
You place a final bloody kiss on my forehead and walk away.

  
That's right. We may share these passing seconds of closeness, and you may press your lips to mine as you would to a lover's, but we are still fuelled by hate; by bloodlust.

 

The proof of it is on my forehead, and the taste of it on my tongue.

 

 

 

 

_**We're enemies.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By one of my best written I mean an angsty ramble that seems fabulous at 2:45 am but I will regret ever posting as I die of *cringe* next morning


	10. 10!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay. I'm back.   
> Lol.  
> Enjoy.

England PoV:

 

This is never over. I had told you before. Messing with the pride of the British Empire will not end well.

Here you are again. You thought acting supporter to a revolting colony that won made you some great hero?

  
"Where is your America now, huh? Were you abandoned? Poor you. You gave so much to help him, no? So why didn't he come now? I hope you are still that fucking smug about your decisions."I spit at your face.

  
You grit your teeth as my spit lands on your cheek. I run my eyes over you.

  
You look pathetic. Your own country just had a total revolution, and you thought you could come knocking for a challenge? Have you lost your senses, Frog?

You look up and stare into my eyes. Your dark blue gaze still sends a shiver down my spine.

" _Arthur_?" you mutter my name questioningly...

...And I immediately feel myself soften. I beckon you forward with my hand and you hastily obey and settle yourself on my lap, your knees on either side of my legs, and the tears finally escape your eyes.

I use the sleeve of my shirt to wipe off your tears and my spit from your face.   
I try to form a kind smile. You simply stare at me for a few seconds, fresh tears falling from your eyes.

You finally rest your forehead on my shoulder, and continue with your snivelling, as I gently play with your sunny locks and stroke your back.

I hear you mutter something, and look down to find you asleep on my chest, face oddly at ease. I can't help but smile.

I awkwardly pick you up, trying not to wake you, and carry you to my bed. I feel so awful about this. You're almost as light as a child.

I lay you down on my bed. I want to climb in and curl up next to you, but I know you would never allow that. I can't hold myself back ... I leave the tent, and decide to return once you've rested and left.

  
Why the hell am I thinking of such things? It's been so long that we've been holding each other after getting hurt(most of the time from each other), but that doesn't really mean anything, does it?

 

 

 

**_We're enemies._ **


	11. 10+1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've finally stopped fighting each other. Lol.

England PoV:

This is stranger than war. After hundreds of years of being at each others' throats, this treaty seems so bizarre.

  
The bottle of red wine that you brought sits half empty on the small round table between us. Your gaze stays fixed on the window, staring into the garden with a small smile playing across your lips...

 

...Lips reddened by drink you're slowly sipping from the glass in your hand. Lips that I'm trying to keep my eyes off at all costs. Lips that I can't suppress my desire to kiss...

 

"The roses are beautiful this year, England."  
Your voice interrupts my thoughts.

"Are you here to admire the roses France?" I shoot back quickly.

"Well, the Treaty has been signed. I do not think there is much else to discuss now, is there?"

There is so much ...

"France. Why are we suddenly doing this? What does this make us now?"

You put your glass down and turn to face me.

"Both of us are well aware of our own strength and the new rising powers of Prussia and Austria-Hungary ... If we truly wish to hold ourselves in the high regards we do now, and not fall to a humiliating loss, it is essential for us to form Alliances as well. This is mere political strategy. Nothing more. A signed piece of paper cannot undo hundreds of years of history."

  
You're right... It's just strategy. Just a precaution. Only a signed piece of paper...

  
"I'll take my leave now, England. I have to make sure we have Russia on our side as well. See you."

"Ah, yes. See you."

You look at me with slight amusement on your face. Almost as if waiting for something...

...But there is no need. We aren't fighting. This is a celebration.

  
"What are you looking at? Bugger off!"

"Haha! ... Now, that is the England I know. Good bye!"

  
You leave without even turning back once.

Why... why could you not kiss me now?

Why could you not hold me now?

Why can't you at least pretend to be happy about this 'peace'?

  
... Right, you already told me. A paper changes nothing.

Nothing.

 

 

 

_**We're enemies.** _


	12. Oops..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This gets a bit dark...  
> And this one's also a little longer.  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> WARNING: There isn't any direct depiction, but there is mention and description of scars left by torture.

England PoV:

The War's almost at it's end. Paris liberated. Germany has finally accepted his defeat and is awaiting trial. His breaking of the first Treaty will not be treated kindly... But that's not what concerns me.

I run through prison after prison with Alfred and Matthew at my side until I find you...  
...But I'm too scared to approach the lifeless form on the cell floor. I'm not sure if you're alive...

The boys approach you first. They manage to wake you up. But there is no celebration to it...

You sit up with a jolt and your eyes bore directly into mine. There is a wildness in them.

Like a tortured animal.

My breath catches in my throat as you let out an animalistic shriek and pounce on America.

"Take off your helmets! He's mistaken you for German soldiers!"  
Both of them quickly oblige and my voice distracts you from them.

  
" _ARTHUR_!" You howl and lunge at me.

I crash into the wall on impact. Your hold on me makes it hard to breathe... but now is not the time to show weakness.

"Canada. Take your brother out with you. Liberate the other prisoners." I command them.

"But..." the older begins

"Just go! Leave him to me! Go!"

  
The boys reluctantly leave.  
Almost instantly, your hands wrap around my neck, but you're too weak to cause any hurt.

I wrap my arms around you and pull you close, settling both of us on the floor, with you secured in my lap.

  
"Shhh. It's okay. We've won. You're free now. It's over. It's over..."

  
Your grip loosens and your hands rest idly on my chest as you begin to sob.

  
"This isn't a trick now, is it? You're real, right? You're my Arthur, right?" you ask in between sobs.

  
_Your Arthur?..._

"Yes, yes it's me. And this is real. I'm here now. You're free now"

You look up at me. Your eyes clouded. I notice all the bruises, cuts and scars all over your face and neck.

Your hands reach out and cup my face. They too are littered with scars, I can see the skin torn off by chains, the bruises in the shape of fingerprints ... the sight of you like this makes my insides burn with rage.

 

I want the blood of all the people the did this to you on my hands.

  
"Why are you so late?! I thought you had abandoned me!" you say landing a slap across my cheek.

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. I came as fast as I could. The war was raging on all fronts, and Paris is the most guarded. We managed to reclaim Paris after multiple failed attempts. But it's over now. You'll be okay now. I promise." I press my face into your shoulder and let my tears do the talking.

I don't have the strength to face you...

I feel your fists repeatedly hitting my back as you continue to vent your bottled up emotions; the rage; the despair; the helplessness; all of it...

  
"I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! You left me in the hands of that monster! I was waiting for you, I kept waiting for you... You didn't come! It was so hard, so hard to keep believing... keep believing you'd come. You don't know how horrible Germans can be! Do you see me now? Can you see what they've done to me! Can you see all my scars? I can't tell what's real and what's not. I can't understand anything. I thought it'll never stop... Arthur is this really you? Please help me. Please, Arthur! I know you hate me, but please help me. I don't want to be here... I- I want to see the sun again Arthur. Arthur please don't let them get me. I don't want to be-"

 

"Shhh, shhh, Francis" I cut you off. I can't bear to hear this anymore.

"It really is me. I am real. I'm here to save you. I won't let anyone hurt you."

"Have we really won?"

"Yes. We have. You don't have to be afraid anymore."

"B-but, we won last time too, that didn't stop him from... fr-from-" you stop mid-sentence and you head lands on my shoulder with a soft thud.

  
" _Francis_ NO!!" I scream almost instinctively.

I press and hand to your chest, and let out the breath I did not realise I had been holding.

Just unconscious. Still alive. Alive.

  
I promise I will break Germany into bits. I will make his existence so wretched that he'll wish he never laid a finger on you as he prays for his own death. Just wait and watch...

  
Your lips quiver, trying to say something. I press my ears close to your mouth and listen. I can only make out a few words, "Enemy... England... Once... Help...Please... Hate... Help... Engla..."

 

I can't help but laugh as I wrap your limp form in my coat and carry you back to the military hospital. I wonder how you'll react when you remember all that you said to me in the heat of the moment; after we go back to the usual when you recover.

 

Our usual.

 

For Centuries.

 

 

 

**_We're enemies._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, if you're wondering why I jumped to WW2 from the Entente Cordiale, and skipped WW1...
> 
> Here's your answer:  
> BECAUSE I MAKE THE RULES IN MY STORY!!!  
> MUAHAHAHAHAHA!!!


	13. 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where shit gets full on fictional somewhere in the near future.
> 
> Bear with me

England PoV:

The world has changed a lot since I first opened my eyes. So have the people I have gotten know along the centuries. Most of them have been very quick to adapt, since they are the ones that benefit the most, and some are slower.

I remember those days when war was the way of the world. When everyone fought everyone to prove themselves superior. I was born in the midst of war. I was born for war.

There would be two types of people; the ones that bowed, and the ones that were bowed to.  
They say that the past in the past. Our past is no longer what defines us... But my past is all I have.

You never truly realise how high you have climbed, unless you're pushed off and fall back to where you started.  
My days as a superpower are over. There is no more fighting to establish your dominance.

But fighting is all I've ever learnt. I fought my way out of hell to the top. I fought anyone who tried to oppose me. I fought them all off, alone.  
They are all allies... They have all always been allies... all against me.

They may treat me with respect now, and smile their fake smiles at me when we cross paths, but I know I never truly will be one of them.

I was never meant to fit in, and that will be rubbed in my face every time I try. Specially not when it's my older brother they all seem to love. Specially not when it's America and the East that they favour. Specially not when old enemies become friends, all one team.  
I am, after all, as you call me, the Black Sheep of Europe.

It has been quite a while since we last had the need to call out to each other by name. The world still knows us to be enemies, for old times' sake.

The thing is, I can never truly understand what makes me your enemy.

I see you with all the others, especially with Germany. You smile with him, laugh with him, you call yourselves close friends too; the very same Germany, that not even hundred years ago left you covered in scars that still haven't faded...

The very same Germany, because of whom you could not sleep without being haunted by nightmares for months...

The very same Germany that had you wake up screaming and begging in the middle of the night in my arms as I held on to you and whispered sweet nothings in your ears till you fell asleep again...

He's you friend, huh?... Good for him that you're quick to forgive... and forget... But still...

 

 

 

  
_**We're enemies.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something's about to go wrong...  
> I can smell it (well, 'cuz I wrote it, y'know)  
> Now wait for it.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok... Shit's about to go downhill....  
> Psst- don't ask me why there is so much conflict in the British Isles in the future... I just want some T.Swift level drama

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, whoever reading this, there is no need of these notes.  
> Why am I adding them?  
> Because my dear 'bro' is going to call and read all of this in a parody voice.
> 
>  
> 
> WARNING: I am (unfortunately) not British ... So just overlook my inaccuracies with the way of speaking and shit. Just bear with me ples.

England PoV:

The gunshot rings through my flat.  
I put down the gun as my head begins to spin. It takes me a few minutes to get back on my feet.

This is what it has come to. Shooting blanks at my own skull. Too tired to keep living. An outcast all look down on. Respect a thing of the past.

Still too afraid to die.

 

I wish we still fought wars. At least I'd have an honourable way to move on. But I have to live.

On that note, I think I may get a chance after all. Today start the deliberations of the rearrangement of the territorial borders of the British Isles.  
Allistair finally seems to have seen through my facade. He knows I'm weak. He knows I'm alone. And... He has you.

Your damned alliance with him...

 

\-------

 

The meeting goes about as well as expected. I still can't stand up to him. No matter how much I try, how high I reach... The sight of his glowering eyes and blazing red hair puts me on edge... a grim reminder of my earliest days, at his mercy, under his command... All old scars seem to start hurting at once.

I catch your eye on the other side of the table as America keeps rambling on with his mouth full. You're sitting in between Scotland and Germany, your best allies.  
My brother takes a puff of his cigarette and says whispers something to you. You let out a small giggle.  
I force myself to turn away and try to focus on what America is saying.

"So, England, What do you think??" he asks excitedly, like a child waiting to be praised.

"I don't understand why an issue that can be solved within the British Isles is being brought up in the World Council."

"Because an idiot like you should not be given control over shit!" Scotland yells from his corner.

"And who should? A drunk, smoking bastard like you?"

"You're forgetting who you're talking to you little pip-squeak."

 

"We are doing this here because Scotland has proposed to go to war, and he has European and American allies. We are here to prevent any more wars." Germany interrupts before I get a chance to reply. That slick bastard!

  
"Don't you get it, Germany? He doesn't want to do this here because he knows he only has a chance to win if it's on his home ground." You chime in with your obnoxious laugh.

"You shut up frog! That's his home ground too."

"Yea. It is. And I'm asking you to hand it back." Scotland gets up from his chair and walks over to stand directly in front of me.

 

"I think we should end this session for now and reconvene tomorrow" Interrupts Germany.  
"Agreed. Session dismissed" America adds hastily.

But I don't plan to give up that quick.

"Don't foolishly challenge the British Empire. You're thinking too highly of yourself."

"Ha! You still have the audacity to call yourself that? Do you really think I'll be scared of you and your empty pistol, you piece of crap?!"

A few of the smaller and uninvolved nations quickly exit the room before it gets too ugly.

Germany and America have both stepped forward, ready to intervene.

I watch you slowly get up and stand behind my brother.

"Is that so now? Well you can come and beg for your land back when you're done smoking your cigarette and fucking your sheep!"

 

I know what's about to come. I know I've gone too far, pushed a forbidden button. But I don't regret it.  
I feel the blunt hit on my face as I stagger and fall back. It's too quick to process as I feel hit after hit threatening to break my neck or rib cage.

I refuse to let him get the satisfaction of hearing me scream.

"Scotland stop!" I hear a voice in the distance. Is it you? ...

  
No... just Germany.

A shame.

 

The hits stop. I can feel the stinging pain slowly spread. His hand grabs at my belt and snatch away my pistol.  
I watch with half closed eyes as he loads it with bullets from his own gun and places it back in its holster.

"You saw that, England? Saw that baby boy? No one tried to save you. No one cares about you here. They all will be more than happy to see you dead. They're on my side. Do us a favour now, will you, baby brother? Use the loaded gun next time and rid us of your filthy self. Coward!"

No one else hears anything but the last word.

He gets off of me and walks out without turning. I see you quickly follow him. Is that a smile I see on your face?

I hope not...

  
"Engla-" Germany tries to approach me.

"...Leave me alone." I growl at him.

He quietly obliges. I sit where where he left me as I hear the quick footsteps shuffle out. All remaining in the room leave.

  
"England, you okay dude?" America's voice calls out from the door.

"Leave" I repeat, trying to keep my voice from cracking. He does.

I quickly get on my feet and rush to the door.  
A sudden coughing fit forces me to stop midway till I regain my breath. I see the blood on my hands as I remove them from my mouth.

Must be an injured lung...

 

A sealed bottle of water is placed in my open hands and I look up to see Russia walk out. He doesn't wait, or turn, or bother me with any questions.

I was hoping it was probably you who had returned. How foolish of me.

 

 

 

 

  
_**We're enemies.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should be writing(typing) the last two chapters, but I've got a case of acute writer's block... So I'm posting the last(not really) of my stash.  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> Also... INACCURACY!


	15. Death. Woopsie!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally... England can't take it anymore...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: You should pay heed to the archive warning right about now. Shit's about to get a tad nasty. + Self harm reference...
> 
> Also: In no way am I endorsing suicide as a solution. That is not a very pleasant thing to do. Stay safe kids.

England PoV:

I've always hated loud places. Especially dance bars. But it's easier to go unnoticed in such places.

I sit by myself with a bottle of single malt whiskey half finished, and the glass full.  
I can't get his words out of my head. How much ever I try.

 

I know he's trying to manipulate me... but what he said wasn't a lie.

No one tried to stop him.

No one tried to help me.

They're all on his side.

I might as well be dead.

 

  
A sudden sting on my arm brings me back to reality.

I've unconsciously scratched the drying scabs on my left arm and blood has seeped through my white shirt...

...another good one ruined.

  
I quickly put on my discarded blazer and empty my glass in one gulp.  
The strong burning inside my throat makes breathing uncomfortable. I should probably stop... but I pour myself another glass.

My eyes drift to the bar, and that's where I spot you. You've changed out of your business suit into a shirt with a frilled trim and your signature tight pants.

I want to get up and approach you, but you're with your other friends. I spot Spain and Prussia close by, accompanied by the Italy brothers, Germany and ... my brother.

The rest of them move to the back to get themselves a table, while Spain stays at the bar with you to order your drinks.

It's worth a shot, I convince myself as I get up. Maybe there's that one thing that hasn't changed between us.

Maybe you'll still help me set my head straight.

I walk up behind you in the increasingly loud music.

 

"France!" I call out.

You don't hear me, but Spain does. His looks back at me in surprise.

"France?" I call out louder. Spain taps you on the shoulder and you finally turn.

Your face turns sour at the sight of me.  
"Yes?" You ask.

But I don't know what to say. What am I supposed to even say?

  
'France, I want to kill myself, save me?' ...

  
"The fuck is taking you so long?" I hear my brother's approaching shout.

 

" _Francis_..." I almost plead.  
You just stare back at me with no reaction.

"Did you just say something?" you ask.

You're drunk. You're bloody drunk. Great!

I don't know how much longer I can hold back my tears. 

" _Francis_..." I plead one more time.

"The fuck do you want you idiot?!" comes my brother's voice.

I watch as he snakes his arm around your waist and pulls you close. You simply lean in with a kiss.

It feels as if my heart missed a beat. I can feel dread rising in the pit of my stomach. I don't need to look up to see Allistair's smug grin.

  
"Is there anything you want to say, England, or are you here to spoil our mood?"  
Your comment makes your surrounding friends laugh.

 

Why... why... why are you doing this to me!? Why does this have to be me? What is it that I've done? Why do you do this to me Francis, why??!

 

I pick up the nearest glass and splash its contents on you.

"Nothing you frog! Enjoy your drink!"

 

I storm out of the bar before anyone can stop me. I can feel all the stares at the back of my head. I keep my head lowered until I step out of the bar into the quieter street and let my tears roll down. I stand there for a few moments.

I'm waiting, rather hoping...

...hoping for you to follow me

...for your arms to wrap around me from behind

...for your soft soothing whispers in my ear

...for your fingers in my hair...

  
...But it never comes.

 

I don't have anything more to do now. I get into the first empty taxi I find and head back to the hotel. If the driver can hear my sobs, he has the decency to not ask any questions or make small talk...

 

\-----

 

  
I spot America in the hotel lobby, chatting up with the staff. He's too young to drink in his own damn country. That fool. I get my keys from the reception desk and head to the lift.

 

"England! Hey England!" I hear his voice call for me.

"Good Night America." I manage to say without my voice cracking.

"..Oh! Good Night then, old man! See ya tomorrow." He sounds so carefree and full of energy...

  
We'll see about tomorrow Alfred. We'll see...

 

I lock the door and switch on all the lights. At least, it's a pretty place for an end...

I take off my shoes and socks, and hang by blazer on a nearby chair. I force myself to walk to the mirror and stare at my own reflection.

  
It feels so hollow. I can see the tear marks on my cheeks. My eyes look like someone sucked the very life out of them.

  
It takes all my strength of will to not pull out the gun at my waist and end it once and for all.

  
I can't give into my brother's games.  
I've tried so hard to be responsible for myself.

I wish I'd learnt to see myself as someone worthy of life ... but I can't.

  
I don't want to die. I want to stay in this world. I want to be able to learn to love myself ... I want to feel worthy... I want to feel loved... There's so much I want, but I don't think I deserve it.

 

Hey... Why'd you leave me?

Why'd you leave me like this now?

You were always there, right?

Every time I wanted to die... I at least found a reason to live in you ... Either to defeat you, or ... or... make sure you live to defeat me...

Guess you've moved on too, huh?

There's no need for an enemy when you have that many friends, I guess.

 

I retrieve the envelope in my blazer and break the seal.  
It's a very old picture... I had painted it from memory after the first time we fought a real war. I have always kept it with me since. If I were to die, I wanted yours to be the last face in front of my eyes...

...the smiling angel that wanted to be my friend.

 

I pulled out the gun and pressed it to my head.  
At least, the last thing I see is your smile...

 

" _Good bye.._."

  
The loud shot rings in my ears as my vision fades. I hold on with all my strength to the picture.

 

What a shame...

 

 

 

 

  
**_We're enemies._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh.... So .... He's been through some shit.... Let's wait and watch...
> 
> Also, I won't be continuing the England PoV thing, cuz you see... He's ... a bit ... not-alive at the moment.  
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> 
> Next we'll see how Francy Pants deals with this...  
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> And SERIOUSLY, don't do suicide kids. Not a good idea.
> 
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> 
> Also:  
>  descriptions may be a bit weird because:  
> 1\. I've never been drunk, more like, never really tasted alcohol
> 
> 2\. Never really gotten shot 
> 
> ...so, feel free to point out inconsistencies.(also, if it's the latter, I'll be very interested in knowing the full story)


	16. 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Uh... Yeah.
> 
> Here goes the first chapter after my man Iggy's death.

France PoV:

"No, no, no, NO _ARTHUR_ !!"  
I wake up with a jolt. Where am I? ... My own bed, in my own house.

  
It's the middle of the night. I scan my surroundings in the darkness. I tried to look for him him in the dark room. He's usually always there when I wake up from a night- Ohhh....

A sharp pain rises in the back of my head. I try to reach for the bedside lamp and instead topple over an empty bottle.

I'll have to be careful about that next morning when I get out of bed.

To hell with that! I won't get out of bed...

I wipe away the tears and sweat from my face and try to bring my mind back to order. But no matter how much I try, it just won't go away... that image just won't leave my mind... and it's all my fault.

I'd rushed into the room just as the door fell open... I don't want to think about what I saw next, but that's all that my mind can focus on... that and old memories...

I try to picture his smile again, but all that comes back are flashes of that night, six days ago...

  
How I'd rushed up the flights of stairs as soon as we heard the shot ring out. The looked door being broken open...

only to find blood slowly flowing towards the door to greet us...

and in front of the mirror, his body lying motionless in a pool of his own blood...

the entry and exit wounds of the bullet in stark contrast to his blond hair...

the bloodied bullet lying near his head...

his own gun loosely gripped in his hand...

a gun that used to be empty...

and in his other hand...

a picture...

 

...of me.

 

I had been too stunned to do anything at all. My legs gave away and I fell to the floor crying. Soon enough, his body was taken away in an ambulance, and I grabbed the fallen bullet and put it into my coat. I don't know why, but I had felt compelled to at that moment.

America approached me after he finished speaking to the hotel staff. The young boy was equally shook with the sudden _occurrence_...

  
He had a piece of paper in his hand and showed it to me. It was the picture... my picture.

I could tell England had drawn it himself, but I don't know when. It seemed pretty old.

"France, dude, you knew him from childhood right?"

"...Yes."

"Ya'know this girl? I've never seen her before. Is she some old country or what? Maybe his girlfriend or something?"

"Girlfriend?"

"I mean, why else do you think he'd keep her photo when he's about to..."

 

I don't have the courage to tell the boy the truth.

  
"I've never seen her, nor have I ever known England to have a girlfriend... America, I'm tired, please may I go back?"

"Uh, yeah sure! I'll arrange it for ya!"

 

The boy was kind enough to arrange a flight back to France for me. I entered that morning, and haven't left my house since...

 

I fall back on my bed again and try to go back to sleep. After some time I manage...

 

 

 

 

**_It's a little too late._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It may take a while to update the other chapters cuz I finally have my hands on my father's old laptop and I still need some time to type on that bad boy.


	17. 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: I have a shit ton of trouble spelling the simplest of words. for example, only in the previous chapter, I spent about 10 minutes on the word 'occurrence' before I could figure out why the red wavy thing kept coming up.  
> Anyway back to the story...

France PoV:

I woke up to the annoying ring of the doorbell. Whoever was at the door was one impatient scoundrel.

I managed to make my my out of bed and through the rest of the flat and opened the door to a ruffled Alfred standing there.

"Dude! What the hell is wrong with you? Why the hell did it take you this long?"

"... Good morning to you too America. What brings you here?"

"Good morning... Wait... What's that smell?"

I couldn't figure what he was talking about.

"Dude... You are reeking of alcohol! How much did you drink last night?"

Shit... "I don't know what you are talking about America. What do you want this early in the morning?"

"...Morning? Oh shoot! Sorry. I kinda keep forgetting the whole different time zone thing. What's the time now?"

I look up at the wall clock in the living room to check. 11:45 A.M. ...

"Thought so." came his voice. I turned back to him to see a smug half grin on his face as he pushes his phone screen into my face. His expression... It reminds me of Him...

"I am sorry Alfred. I've just been a bit... preoccupied... please come in."

 

He frowned, the childish annoyance on his face replaced by a look of concern as he stepped inside. "France, I think there is something we have to talk about. You've got some explaining to do, man."

I know... I have so much explaining to do... so much...

But  I don't want to... 

I don't want to talk about any of this...

 

"What do you mean? Please take a seat, we can talk after that."

"No, can do. Let's just get to the point, shall we?"

No... I know what's coming... 

"...OK"

"What was England to you? ... Actually, what were you to him?"

 

To me?... I don't know...

"That is a very strange question to ask America... What are you trying to get at?"

 

A hard push on my shoulder forces me to fall back on the sofa. I look up at the boy... In his eyes a strange mix of rage and grief...

 

"There is nothing strange about it. If there is anything strange, that's you!"

"You are being very rude America. You know you still are a guest at my place, right?"

 

He reaches for the cushion right next to me and throws it across the room in frustration. I spot the tears in the corners of his eyes.

"DAMN YOU and your politeness! My brother just killed himself and you have been missing since; and you think I care about manners now!?" he screams at me.

 

I can't help but flinch. He's terrifying when angered.

 

But I won't let this boy goad me.

"...Your brother, America? You haven't called him that since the 1700's, have you?"

 

He throws off his own glasses and glares at me. I shrink back even further. I don't have the strength to meet his gaze.

He's openly crying now.

 

"You! Fuck you! You know what I mean. Fuck you! ... You are the last person he tried to talk to. What did he want to say? And why to you? Do you remember anything?! Answer me DAMN IT!!!"

 

Why are you telling me all of this like it hasn't been haunting me for the entire week...

 

"I... I can not answer that. I am sorry... I really am."

 

"You better be!" I feel the pressure on my knees as he kneels in front of me and grabs me. I feel the tears roll down my own cheek as I force myself to look into the boy's eyes...

He's so young... 

 

so vulnerable in this moment... 

 

...And so much like Him.

 

"America...?"

 

He rests his forehead on my lap and stays quiet. I tentatively put my hand on the back of his head. His hair is rough... It's so much like His... This boy truly is so much like Him..

 

"Hey France...?"

"Yes, America?"

 

He doesn't bother to look up.

"Do you think I could have stopped him?" 

 

I don't know what to say...

I could have..

He wanted me to...

No... 

He needed me to...

 

"I mean, I saw him when he entered the hotel you know... I was right there in the lobby. I even said hello to him... ... He said good night to me, he sounded so tired... I said that I'll talk to him the next day... but... but he... I never got the chance!..."

 

He looked up. His eyes red. Probably matching mine...

"I understand how hard this is for you... I really am sorry."

"But, why did he go to you? Germany told me he had tried to talk to you at the bar before spilling a drink on you and running off? You guys have always been enemies, right? so why did he go to you if he was troubled? Why didn't he come to me? He knew I would have helped him right? I'm the ... hero, after all. Do you think it's because of the Scotland issue?"

"It must be the Scotland issue" I answer.

Of course it is... Hasn't Scotland always been the damn issue!

"Maybe he came to me to talk about my alliance with Scotland... I can't think of anything else..." 

I know exactly why he came to me... why he came to me with my name on his lips... But I don't know what name to give it...

 

"I wish he knew how much I cared for him... Do you think he would have ever come to me if I acted less self centered?" he chimes in...

"Alfred... both of us know it was his own sense of pride in front of others that stopped him from seeking help... He loved you just the way you are. You know it."

 

You aren't the only one who cares for him, you know?

 

He gets up and quickly wipes his face. He walks to the other end of the room and picks up the cushion and hands it to me. 

"Sorry about this, man. I'm just a bit on edge since..."

"It's OK Alfred, I understand."

 

I know exactly how that feels.

 

He picks his glasses from the coffee table, and at once, his face is back to his usual self with only puffy eyes as proof of his vulnerability... But this boy has never been afraid to express his emotions, he finds strength in them...

 

... I wish He could have too...

 

"Anyway, I don't think I'll find too many answers here, so I'll head off. He's buried back in his own country. There's an official memorial today. Ends at 6:00 P.M. ... Make it if you can."

 

And when does it start?... You're smarter than you let on... No wonder He was so proud of you... He raised you right... Thanks.

 

"You know, somehow, finding the scars, old an new, littering his arms was more painful than the exit wound through his skull. I know you know more of the story than you are letting on, but I'll let you keep your secrets..."

"America... what are you..."

Scars?... No......

 

"I know you guys were enemies and stuff, but I guess you would still want to go visit once. After all, staying off the grid for a whole week and drinking day and night till you lose your own renowned sense of fashion, and having eyes red and puffy, from what I assume is definitely not crying, is a bit of an overkill for the death of an enemy, no? Clean up and get some fresh London air, old man."

 

He leaves without turning back. 

 

I don't want to think... but I can't help the images my mind is creating...

... His arms... covered in scars...

... the empty gun...

 

Goodness England! I'm so sorry...

I ignored Him when he came begging to me for help...

 

 

 

 

_**It's a little too late.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk man... I just really like this America(USA) as the new England comparison...  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> I hope the story is enjoyable so far. A few more chapters left. Maybe 3 more and an epilogue depending on my mood.
> 
> also, see how the chapters keep getting longer? I just can't help the angst.


	18. confession.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A (hopefully short) summary of what happened that fateful night, as France remembers it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and a bit of other drama... cuz why not?

France PoV:

Just like America had promised... When I reached my destination at 7:00 P.M., I found the cemetery empty.

The smell of roses still fresh.

I find the stone I was looking for... 

 

 ...I don't know what to say. I can't seem to find the words to form the apology that I wish was not needed.

 

Before me lies the sight I never could have imagined I'd have to see. "Arthur Kirkland" reads the neat white lettering on the polished black stone.

 

I lower my bouquet amongst the others already there. 

Along with them, there is a picture of you... A small smile playing on your lips...

 

You are so beautiful Arthur... And so brave... Why did you have to leave?

 

I can't stop my own tears, and I am thankful there's no one else around. 

 

I kneel in front of the stone, I can't ignore my impulse anymore...

_"Arthur... Arthur, why?"_

 

I can't stop myself from repeating his name... It's foolish, but I can't help it. I need something. I need something to seek comfort in, to seek refuge in... 

 

... And his name is the only thing that comes to mind.

 

The name of the man who branded me as his enemy even before we spoke.

The name of the man who stood opposing me every chance he got over centuries...

 

 

...The name of the man who was also there for me when I could see no one else around.

The man who would come rushing to me if I simply called his name, despite his constant display of hatred for me...

 

I catch my breath and lower my head in front of the stone.

 

"Hey... Arthur... I don't know if you can even here me... neither do I know if you can ever forgive me... But I need to say this to you... I'm sorry. Arthur. I'm so... so sorry."

 

The false sense of being heard by him in the silence of the surroundings goads me into keep talking. Every thought and every word I have been holding back for the past week slowly pours out.

 

"You know... Arthur," I keep using his name, I know he wouldn't approve of it, but he's not here... and I need him... his name on my lips is the closest thing to a smile I can get to, "I wasn't really drunk as you thought... Neither am I as close to Scotland as you thought. It was so loud there... It was impossible to hear anything... I thought you were only venting your usual anger on me... I didn't even grasp the seriousness of the entire situation until an offhand comment of Spain's. He suddenly said, 'From when does England use your name? I didn't think he even knew it.' ... Only then did I realise what I had truly done... I swear, I swear to you England, I rushed out at once... but you were already gone. I saw you enter the taxi, and I followed you in the very next empty one. I met America in the lobby too. He said you didn't seem that off... I thought maybe it wasn't too late ... how foolish of me ... That's when the gunshot took everyone by surprise... We ran up the stairs and broke into the room ... It all seemed so quick, but the damage was already done... I was too late... I'm sorry."

 

I hear footsteps behind me. I quickly straighten up and wipe my face.

 

"See! I told you we'd find this brat here!" comes Scotland's booming voice.

"I see you were correct but you could use a better set of words, you know." replies Germany's chiding voice.

 

I get back on my feet as Scotland's hand grabs my shoulder and forces me to face them. "You've  got some explaining to do, my dear Francis."

 

"Hello Alistair. Hello Ludwig. what are you two doing here?"

 

"Scotland here wante-"

 

"Shut the fuck up Germany. Let me do the talking, will you?" Scotland interrupts him. "Look here Francis. You've been missing for a whole damn week, when you're supposed to be helping me now that the bastard's gone for good."

 

"That 'bastard' is your brother. Have some sense of shame, will you?" I mutter

 

"Why the hell would I be ashamed? He was just a stupid coward who got what he deserved." came the reply.

 

I glanced at Germany. He was watching stoically, but I knew from his stance that he would interrupt if things got ugly.

 

"Maybe the fact that it was your bullet that killed him? ... Actually the bullet was just a catalyst, no? You may think you are some sort of victim in this scenario, and that can fool everyone else here, not me. I have seen what you did to him... I know everything about your doings, and that will be the end of you if I want it to."

 

The eyes that looked back at me were glowing with a strange malignancy. 

 

My head hit the marble edge as I fell back, and I raised my arms to guard myself from the punch I knew was about to come.

 

...But it didn't land.

 

I looked up to see Germany restraining Scotland's raised fist.

 

"Don't you dare try that again. I've sat through your bullshit once. That was not a very pleasant scene. I'm not doing that again."

 

"How dare you! You Nazi fuc-"

 

In one swift stroke Germany lands a blow that throws him off me and into the dirt.

He looks up, about to curse, but the expression on Germany's face is warning enough to keep shut.

 

The same face that I had seen ages ago... 

 

The face of my nightmares...

 

The nightmares that He chased away...

 

"You better remember who you are talking to. You are nothing without your allies. You are nothing but a weak bitch jealous of your own little brother. And you better behave yourself with Francis as well. With one order he can crumble your entire damn country."

 

Scotland averted his gaze and stood up quickly. 

 

"Look, Scotland, I do not wish to start a fight. Leave here if you wish the same." Germany added with a cold voice.

 

He turned on his heel, and walked off briskly; but not before throwing a final jab...

 

"You can blame me all you want Francis, but don't forget, this is your fault just as much. You can cry all you want, but you still remain his lifelong enemy!"

 

This is what I've always found the most terrifying about this man... Not his battle prowess, not his anger fits... But his ability to mess with people's minds with his words...

 

Always the truth...  so harsh, so cleverly worded to support his cause, so skilfully sewn together to unnerve his opponent...

 

... But truth, nonetheless.

 

 

"Get up, Francis." Germany says to me, offering his hand.

 

I mutter a thanks as I take it and pull myself back to my feet.

 

He looks at me with concern, the icy sharpness in his eyes contrasted by his furrowed brow and a small frown on his lips.

 

"I'm sorry... I just..."

 

"I don't know how much help I'll be, and if I were being honest, Italy is more suited for this job... But if you need someone to talk to, I'm willing to listen."

 

Oh,Germany...

 

"Thanks. Thanks a lot. Really." I wrap my arms around him.

 

He reluctantly hugs me back...

 

His arms feel so different from His...

 

But I guess, that's the price I pay...

 

 

 

 

 

 

**_It's a little too late._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> took me an unholy amount of time to figure out that frowning of the eyebrows is called 'furrowing' ... I don't know what happens to my vocabulary sometimes...


	19. looking back.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis tries to explain to Ludwig the strange relationship between himself and England

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm wondering if I should use a Germany PoV or not...  
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Germany PoV:

 

We sit down together on an empty bench in a park nearby as night falls. He sits with his elbows on his knees and face in his hands.

 

He's finally managed to stop his tears. But what he has been doing to himself has left clear signs. God knows what got to him...

 

"Francis? ..."

 

He looks up at me with red eyes and a forced smile. "Yes, Germany?"

His voice sounds so feeble... and devoid of his usual cheer...

 

"Do you think you can open up to me?"

 

He looks at me with a quizzical stare, as if demanding some explanation for my intrusion ... I just want to help him... I've seen this man show such extreme resilience before...

 

"I don't mean to intrude, but it's my personal observation that usually talking to someone does help... I used to talk to my brother when I was younger... Not that I'm saying you have to trust me... I could call someone else you'd like to talk to... Maybe Italy? He's like a little brother to you right? Or maybe Canada? Or maybe my brother or Spain? Or-"

 

his hand on my thigh cuts me off. He has a smile on his face.

 

"You know ... If trust is what the issue is, there is no one better than you. You are a very good friend to me, Germany." he sighs,"I just don't know what I'm supposed to say. I can't seem to string together a tangible set of words to express myself..."

 

I place a tentative hand on the one on my leg. His hand is so cold. I lift it to get a closer look...

 

His nails are broken ...

 

And there are cuts all over his palm...

 

...And under the sleeve that has rolled up...

 

 

He quickly pulls his hand away and pulls down his sleeve...

...but that doesn't remove the image of the deep red gash I saw over old scars.

 

"Are you judging me right now, Germany?" his voice sounds hollow.

 

"No. I would never do that... I'm only concerned about you... You are still reeking of alcohol. Did he really mean that much to you?"

 

"...I don't know what he really means to me... I've been trying to figure that out for over a few centuries now..."

 

"Francis... forgive me, but I still don't get it... Why did Scotland say you were to be equally blamed? What did he mean by that?"

 

"His crime was pushing his brother to his extreme limits... And mine was not stopping him..."

 

"Stopping Scotland? Then all of us in that room are to be equally blamed."

 

"No... Stopping England." he says, looking away.

 

"How were you supposed to stop him?" I ask, curious...

 

He lets out a loud snort. "That's the thing... He came to me... He set aside his pride, and approached me in the bar... in front of everyone... And I ... I ignored him... Blatantly made fun of him... He stepped up with enough courage to ask for help... and I... I made fun of him... I humiliated him in front of everyone... In front of Scotland..."

 

He began sniffling again.

 

...So, that's what had transpired in that bar fight... but something's still not clear to me...

 

"But... I've never really seen both of you ever actually act ... chummy... Why do you think ..."

 

"Why he came to me? ... Maybe it's because of the multiple other times we have seen each other vulnerable... It's more of an old practice... I cannot really explain it... It's like some sort of an unspoken pact... It's been this way for ages..."

 

"But... I still don't understand it... I've studied the history of Europe, and both of you have been at each others' necks since the beginning of time..."

 

"That's the funny thing you see... I never was the one who decided that we'd be enemies."

 

"I am afraid I don't quite understand..."

 

"Well... I'll try my best to explain... At least my side of the story... You see, we'd met back when England was still under Scotland, a new nation that did not truly understand the world... And Scotland took advantage of that to set me up as his enemy... I was just as naive, and took England's words to heart...

"By the time we were old enough to understand all of it... the rift formed was too deep. I held the belief that he still mistrusted me... The only way I could get through to him, was to break his walls... you can figure out the rest, can you not?"

 

"...I see. So this is a case of miscommunication. But why did you two not try to reconcile during the later years?"

 

"He was too proud, and I was too blind."

 

He turns to me once more and asks, "Germany... what would you do if someone tried to take Italy away from you?"

 

The question takes me by surprise. "I don't get you. Take Italy?..."

 

"You do love him, don't you?"

 

"...Beyond doubt."

He smiles as I feel the warmth spread across my cheeks.

 

"You rush to his side whenever he calls, despite knowing he will run off."

 

"He has been there for me when everyone else saw me as a threat. Besides, that is just his nature!" the words come out with more force than intended...

 

"So... if someone were to take him from you... What would you do?" he continued monotonously.

 

"I would try to get him back, of course. But why are you asking all this?"

 

"What if getting him back was not an option? Then?"

 

"Then..."

 

Then what? I've never had such thoughts, but now I can't overlook the thought. What would I do? 

...Now that I think about it, I cannot really imagine life without him... He has simply infused himself into my life, and I can't bear the thought of it being any other way.

"...I don't know. I'm sorry."

 

France lets out a small laugh.

"So, is it suffice to say that at least you would avenge him?"

 

"I guess it is."

 

"Hmm... Good. Life without him would be hard for you, right?"

 

"...It would."

 

He nodded solemnly and got back on his feet.

"See you later, Germany. Good Night. I have some work to get done."

 

"Good night, Francis."

 

I don't know what this man is planning, but I do know that we are all in for a rather nasty surprise...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up using Germany PoV...  
> for the bonus GerIta(if you can call it that)


	20. conclusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> France's final plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm dropping the PoVs here because it's kind of getting uncomfortable for me. 
> 
> Plus, I want to dedicate a f*ck you to a certain Professor I've had the fortune to be taught by.  
> read more of my personal rant(if you want to) in the end notes.

Narrator PoV:

 

"...With this, I declare the nation of Scotland officially dissolved. Crimes Scotland is charged with include the first degree murder of Francis Bonnefoy, former representative of the nation of France, playing an indirect role in the death of Arthur Kirkland, former representative of the nation of England and main representative of the United Kingdom, and posing as a threat  world peace among other crimes. Alistair Kirkland, representative of Scotland is thus sentenced to death. 

"Territorial rearrangements shall be discussed in the next meeting." Germany finished.

 

He felt a sick sense of satisfaction reading out the final decision of the committee and seeing Scotland dragged out in chains. It reminded him of the time he had been forced to watch the same treatment being shown to his brother... He sent a quick prayer to the heavens above for the current situation.

 

The others left the room in small groups of threes and fours. Slowly the chatter in the room died down, and Germany was approached by his lover.

"Hey Germany, Thanks a lot... you know... for punishing big brother's killer." he muttered.

 

"I punished no one," he said as soothingly possible. "The decision was taken by committee, and he got what he deserved."

 

France's death had been a shock to most... but Germany knew it was inevitable. After all, it was Germany that France had addressed his final letter to. 

His final plan. His last wish...

 

...And his suicide note.

 

 

Italy wrapped his arms around his lover's heavier frame and hid behind him as he saw Russia approach, closely followed by America who had just finished bolting the door shut.

Russia still intimidated most nations, with the few exceptions of USA, his brother Canada, Germany, China and India.

 

"Hello Italy." The tall man smiled cheerfully,"Hello Germany. Mind if America and myself take up some of your time?"

 

"Wh-what do you want from him Russia?" Italy asked timidly.

 

"Dude chill! We just want to talk. There is something we need to clarify." America chimed in.

 

"I see. Should I leave then?" asked the smaller European

 

"You stay right here." Germany made his point by wrapping an arm around Italy's narrow shoulder.

 

Neither of the others present raised an objection.

 

"Germany, do you know what we want to talk about?"asked Russia in his assumed sweet voice.

 

"I have a fair idea. Why not head to some place a bit more private?" replied the German.

 

"Sure!" Interrupted America.

 

\----------

 

 

 

The four men sat around a table at a small Parisian cafe.

For once, both Italy and America were less focused on the food in front of them, and more on the discussion going on.

 

 

"I don't get this. Why the hell did Scotland kill France? Wasn't France his primary ally?" asked Italy.

 

"Yeah, I don't quite get that either." added America, taking a sip of his coffee.

 

Germany didn't really know if the question was directly meant for him or not, and should he try to answer it when Russia broke into a chuckle.

 

"Do you really think Scotland actually has the strength or courage to do anything to France other than throwing a few loose punches?" he asks.

 

"What do you mean Russia?" asked Italy.

 

"I mean to say that everything isn't really what it seems to be. Isn't it, Germany?" he replies.

 

"...How much do you know?" asks Germany with a curious glance at the Russian.

 

"Oh, I don't really know anything at all. Just that there is something more than it seems, and you the most likely to have the answers." he smiles.

 

"...So, you're just making assumptions?" asks Germany.

 

"It doesn't seem like he's wrong, is he now, Germany?" asks America.

 

"Germany, what are they talking about? What are you trying to hide from us?" Italy asks with a nervous look.

 

"I am not hiding anything. I am only acting according to instructions." he answers.

 

America reaches into his pocket and takes out a folded piece of paper. He puts up a dramatic show of opening it and reads out the contents. 

"Listen to Germany. He knows what he's doing. Do not let Scotland win... at any cost. Please.

 

"I am sure your set of instructions was more than this that Russia and I were given." he adds with a snide smirk.

 

"... Yes. I was aware of most of his plan. And I see no harm in sharing it with you if you promise to keep it a secret."

 

"You have our word. Please carry on. I wish to check if my theory is correct." said Russia.

 

 

"Fine then. The truth is, this was all very carefully planned out by Francis. Scotland had picked a Fight with him about two weeks before the incident, when he had gone to visit England's grave. I had been accompanying Scotland, and thus happened to witness it. Later on the very same day, he had given me an indication that he was planning something. A few days later, I received a letter from him. It was rather short, and the gist of it was that he was to lure Scotland into picking a brawl with him. France knew Scotland would not be able to keep his temper in control, so he decided to use it to his advantage. He knew that his life would be at risk, so he wanted me to make sure justice is carried out. After all, Scotland is not innocent... All of us had heard what he had said to England on the day of the last conference, though none of us had the decency to intervene..." Germany explained as simply possible...

 

"But how did France know Scotland would try to kill him?" America asked.

 

"He did not. He made sure it played out that way." said Russia.

 

"You mean Francis killed himself?" asked Italy.

 

"Sort of. He had poisoned himself. He was weakening himself. One blow from Scotland was enough to knock the life out of him." said Germany.

 

"And you let him do all of this despite knowing he might die! What the Hell Germany?" America lashed out.

 

"Do not blame Germany, America. He had nothing to do if France had already made up his mind. Germany only fulfilled his duty as a friend." chided Russia.

 

The younger averted his gaze as Russia took his hand in his own and gave it a small squeeze.

 

"But France really didn't have to die for all of this! What is it with these older nations all using death as their only solution?" continued America.

 

 

Both Italy and Russia let out a small chuckle at this. The boy was too young to truly comprehend the depth of relations formed over millennia.

 

 

"The guilt of letting England die was too much for him. He never even got the chance to confess his feelings to the man he loved, and was forced to watch him die..." Italy reached for Germany's hand under the table as he said the words.

 

 

An awkward silence hung in the air until America spoke again.

"But isn't that good? England would have rejected him. His heart was already with some other girl."

 

"What do you mean America? What girl?" asked a curious Germany.

 

"I'm sorry I didn't bring this up earlier ... I kinda forgot about it. This was the picture England had in his hand when we found him. I'd shown this to France then, he couldn't recognise her, see if any of you can."

 

America reached into the pocket of his jacket once more, and brought out the neatly folded piece of paper. He opened it and laid it down on the table for the other three to see.

 

Italy was the first to react. His eyes widened. Recognition sparkling in his eyes.

"It's him..." he muttered.

 

"Him?" Germany looked as confused as America felt.

 

"That is a him?" America asked, but Italy remained mute in astonishment.

 

America turned to Russia and saw his smile widen... but there was a strange shadow of sadness over it.

Russia looked up and put a hand on his shoulder.

 

"America... You really don't know how wrong you are... " his lover sighed.

 

...

 

...

 

...

 

**_Indeed. They were enemies. And it was a little too late to change things._ **

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so... This is kinda where it officially ends...  
> I do have an epilogue planned, but the thing is... that was a promise made to a certain someone... and our relationship at the moment is kinda tumultuous... So it may be a while before I post that. But I will if anyone here asks for it (Screw her then!)
> 
> .  
> .  
> .
> 
> Also:  
> A f*ck you to professor JOY RED (name translated from my native language)... You told me that I use too many ellipses. That my stories were too depressing. That I overuse descriptions and don't form a proper conclusive plot.  
> You convinced me my writing wasn't good enough to be published, and excluded it from your special publication.  
> Guess what, professor Joy Red... I don't need you to tell my stories. I can publish my work and share it with like minded people. And I can form my own style of writing!  
> Besides, Pinterest has taught me more than you could, so thanks for nothing and making me miss other classes. 
> 
> So long, sucker!


	21. The Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the epilogue that is here to deliver on the eventual happy ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have officially given up hope on formerly mentioned special someone.  
> So I am here to at least finish with this piece.
> 
> also, this is my longest ever... so yay me! (for actually finishing it)
> 
>  
> 
> .
> 
> .
> 
> Also, to end this in a cycle, welcome back to the ...
> 
> PoV !!!

England PoV:

 

Days as as spirit have passed mostly in ease... I cannot travel too far from where I'm buried... But that's fine.

And you... You're cruel.

Why did you come to me after I already left? 

Do you know how much it hurt to hear you crying my name ... 

 

...Calling my name when I'm right in front, but can't reach out? Can't wrap my arms around you? ... Can't hold you to my chest like I want to...? 

 

...And then you never come again. Why?

Are you over me finally? ... I hope so...

 

 

-×- 

 

One Morning I find myself in a completely different place from my usual spot in the cemetery...

I can see the deep blue sea from where I stand. I can see stone structures a bit further inwards. 

As I walk over the lush green grass, I feel like I'm in some old memory... It reminds me of childhood ...

 

...At least, the prettier part of it ...

 

As I reach the structure, I realise that it's a memorial..

A white marble obelisk with intricately carved floral patterns decorating it's borders.

I begin to read the detailed inscriptions on it ...

Commissioned by the United States of America, Russia and Germany:

_In the loving memory of the empires of the past, marking and making a glorious era on the face of this earth, and now on this Island of Dover,_

Here lie:

_ARTHUR KIRKLAND_

_&_

_FRANCIS BONNEFOY_

 

 

 

Francis?

Francis is...?

 

"Arthur... Is that you?" A familiar voice calls out from behind.

I turn around to see the face that has been in my dreams for ages... Your hair flowing behind you in the wind, the grin on your lips widening ...

I see the sparkle in your eyes as you rush to me and wrap your arms around me in an iron grip.

 

_"Arthur! Arthur..."_

 

You keep repeating my name as you begin to cry on my shoulder.

 

_"...Francis."_ I mutter as I wrap my arms around you.

We stand in each others arms like that for what feels like eternity... But time no longer means anything to either of us.

 

You lift your head and look into my eyes... The same blue as the ocean that surrounds us... But much much deeper... And more inviting to drown in...

 

I gather up the courage I had yet to find in life ... 

... I get up on my toes and wrap my arms around your neck and press my lips to you first.

 

You kiss back instantly... And... And it's heaven. I press into you harder and you reciprocate with equal vigour ... 

 

... Why could I not find the courage to do this earlier? 

 

I open my mouth to you and feel your tongue snake in. It's so warm... I let you explore all corners of my mouth as your hand reaches for my neck, holding it from behind and another hand wraps around my waist. I can't stop the moans from escaping my throat...

 

When we finally part after what felt like hours... I manage to speak again...

 

"Francis ... Why...?"

 

You smile again and take both my hands in yours.

"What's the point of life if there is no enemy worth my time?"

You pull me into another hug and press your  forehead into my shoulder.

 

"You know Arthur... I love you. I always have. I love you."

I reach for your hair and comb my fingers through it...

"... I... I love you as well Francis ... I never really thought you'd accept me..."

 

You let out a small giggle... "We were fools."

 

"Yes, we were. But it isn't really too late to change now is it?" I say.

 

"... Tell me honestly... Are we enemies?"

"We can't change the past we've lived through already... The world will remember us as enemies... But, we have nothing to do with the world anymore now, do we?"

 

You press your lips to mine in a quick kiss, like our very first one,"You're right."

 

 

 

 

 

 

-×-×-

 

 

Narrator PoV:

 

"Ivan!!" The American calls out as he lunges at his lover, who easily  catches him and pulls him into a bear hug.

"What is it Alfred?" He asks his writhing lover in a sweet voice.

 

"KISS!" the smaller demands.

And his demand is met with a long sweet kiss from the cold lips of the Russian. 

But he is pushed away when he leans in for another.

"What happened?" Asked the American

"We're here America."

"Oh, right. Let's go then Russia."

The younger boy rushes off the small yacht, conveniently forgetting the bouquets. 

 

 

...

 

"Do you think they'll like it here?" asks America as they prepare to leave the artificial island in the Dover strait where they built the memorial.

 

"They'll be very happy here... You should worry about your own happiness too, you know?" 

 

"I've left that to you Ivan."

 

"Yes, you have. Good decision Alfred." He says, wrapping an arm around his lover's waist.

 

 

 

 

 

**_They'd make the new world better together._ **

**_Maybe they've been enemies._ **

**_... But so have the most passionate lovers_ **

**_But they'd be better before it got too late._ **

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yayy. 
> 
> Also, bonus AmeRus!

**Author's Note:**

> Leave kudos and comments!  
> Constructive criticism always welcome!


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